


Methodology

by wouldgirthmatter



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Emotional Sex, M/M, Online Dating, explicit stuff will come eventually im so sorry, i had NO idea when i first posted this that it would end up being this long im sorry, richard has trouble coming to terms w being gay, this is more of a richard character study than i originally intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12504592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldgirthmatter/pseuds/wouldgirthmatter
Summary: Richard has a complicated relationship with his sexuality, to say the least. Of course he doesn't realize the harms of his current habits, but his methodology in regards to sex is challenged when he runs into a very charming but anonymous "Donny" on Grindr.





	1. Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things:
> 
> I know that I talk about Richard having sex with men in this in a skeevy context, but this does not reflect my actual views about Grindr or men's dating apps in general (I'm gay myself). It's just that he's really using sex as self-harm, and if all these men took him home and treated him right, it wouldn't have the same thematic impact. I am not trying to imply that this is what the gay community is up to 24/7 or that all gay anonymous hookups are these unhealthy, scary encounters. That's just how I spun it for the sake of the plot. 
> 
> I also treated Grindr like Tinder even though I know they don't work the same way, but Tinder is just more intuitive and worked for the storyline better lol,,,
> 
> Also, this fic has similar elements to two other fics I've read on here, so I feel it's necessary to give credit where credit is due for these other writers who wrote similar storylines before I did.  
> \--> "The Daily Grind" by d2fmeasurement is about Gilfoyle and Dinesh meeting on Grindr.  
> \--> "Devour Me Whole" by mitochondriencocktail is about Richard having sex in a similarly self-destructive way. 
> 
> EDIT: This became more of a character study than I intended! I meant for it to just be emotional smut but now I have 11k+ words on Richard's struggle to understand his sexuality so my apologies, folks. Porn will come eventually.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

There was a methodology to it; a series of steps to follow and patterns to adhere to; a processing layout, if you will, that Richard had to follow. There was a rhythm; a bass; a beating heart; a sequence – this is what he did. Multiple nights a week, he would go through all the motions, and feel full – useful, necessary, handy – satisfied, but only for a moment, for afterwards he would be filled with the emptiness that had become familiar in between these nights.

This is what he did.

He would put his shoes on before he even got out his phone so that if he couldn’t match with anybody (as did happen some nights) he would feel even more shame taking off his sneakers and admitting defeat, in addition to the embarrassment of putting them on in the first place to do something like this. It was all about feeling horrible and humiliated; if it felt good then it would be weird.

He would sit at his desk and swipe left or right randomly, since he really never saw these men face to face, and it didn’t really matter.

He would sometimes check his own bio to try to wrangle back his consciousness to the hunched over twenty-something on a dating site in the dark – to try to re-connect his body and mind while his glazed-over eyes absently looked over his phone.

But it never worked, so he rarely did.

He never put a picture up of his face either – just an anonymous photo of his dick as if that didn’t further encourage his disassociated relationship with his sexuality. He hated the photo either way though; he couldn’t bear to have his junk and camera out at the same time long enough to try more than two takes, so it was also blurry at best.

But nevertheless, Richard would swipe back and forth until someone eventually matched him despite the excessive anonymity, and they would set time and place. He would wait until Jared went to sleep so that if the ever-nocturnal Gilfoyle and Dinesh were still awake to ask his whereabouts, a simple, “Out,” would suffice as an excuse. He knew Jared would care too much to let him just leave in the middle of the night without a fully-formed justification, but by the time Richard left most nights, if Gilfoyle and Dinesh were still awake at all, they were more Redbull than water. Richard could say, “Off to the moon,” and he would get two approving grunts in response.

He would then tiptoe out of the house and drive to some bar or another – though he usually settled on a specific gay bar right outside Palo Alto – and would wait in a bathroom stall next to a shameful hole in some wall until some man’s huffy voice inevitably said, “There a Richie in here?”

By the time Richard walked in the bathroom, his ears would ring, drowning out most other noise; he would sit patiently and obediently there, hands crossed, compact and compliant, until he heard a distorted version of his name through the garble. Then, he would quietly mumble in a high register, “Yes,” as he robotically got down to his knees.

There was a procedure to it.

The evening up until this point would drag along and blend together in sluggish motion, but after hearing his name, everything else happened in quick succession. Pants would unzip, his mouth would water, he would hear nothing but white noise as his cheeks hollowed, his eyes would well with tears, and he would relish in the seven and a half minutes that he felt full until the man he had chosen finished, thanked him dryly, and left.

Something about feeling it in the back of his throat, palming himself through his jeans with one hand while he blew the man of the night, even the feeling of the cold tile floor against his knees until it hurt – it was addictive. Every sensation rushed in and suffocated him and he wasn’t in control; no decisions, no crucial deadlines or quotas, no business crises; just white noise and some stranger’s dick in his mouth. Feeling powerless and feeling valuable at the same time. A dream and a nightmare at the same time – confusing, to say the least.

Every sound would rush back after the man finished, and Richard would wait until he heard footsteps retreat and the bathroom door close before making his way back to his car. He dreaded ever meeting these men; any actual confirmation that he had actually just sucked a stranger off would make this all real. Until then, Richard was in this dream and he would remain absent until he slouched back to his bedroom at home. He was unplugged and being walked out of the house by some compulsory power, and he wasn’t back in dominance until his head hit his pillow and he could toe off his sneakers.

And he wasn’t gay. He _definitely_ wasn’t gay. That’s not what this was.

He just wanted to feel needed. Even if the only thing he was needed for was being face-fucked by strangers in public restrooms, at least it was something.

And it just so happened to have to be men. Sex with women never went well. It was more of a trophy or prize or competition more than anything he actually enjoyed doing; sex with women was a chore and he felt like there was something to prove. He always worried about impressing women, but he learned that men were usually content with a warm mouth.

To be fair, what he did in these bathrooms wasn’t something he actually enjoyed either, but it felt like there was sincere potential that maybe one day he could like it.

Sex with women always felt like a missed connection and no spin put on it could make it comfortable or correct, but with these anonymous men, while his ears rang and he choked on his tears, Richard imagined what it would be like to do this someplace else.

And it just so happened to be at night too. The day was filled with judgment and consequences but what happened at one AM in a bathroom stall stayed in that bathroom stall. He could hide in the cover of every condemnatory eye sleeping.

But he would imagine what it would be like if it was gentle; if it was how he would hope in an ideal world. Being in his loft bed, someone – no one in particular most nights – holding his head and gently tugging his hair, moaning his name and whispering sweet things to him until he finished. Richard would imagine that after, he wouldn’t swallow just to rid his mouth of the taste and put the evening behind him in getting rid of the evidence, but rather swallow to make this someone blush and to keep the night as a memory.

Richard really wanted to do this – have sex with men that is – but he wanted to feel good about it. Every time he drove forty minutes to have pitiless, angry oral sex with strange men, he was chasing the pipe dream that maybe _this_ time it would be lovely or maybe _this_ time or maybe _this_ time or what about next time? Maybe – hopefully – one day he would go through all the motions and then come home still feeling full.

But he knew it probably wouldn’t happen, or at least not anytime soon.

And even if every night ended in humiliation and disappointment, something about him couldn’t stop going back for more. It was shameful and disgusting and weird and he never felt good about it.

But he loved it.


	2. Meeting

Richard sat slumped over his desk and held his phone close to his body, hiding the screen as if anticipating a sudden intruder.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Left. Left. Right. Left. Left.

The pickings were slim tonight. On a whim, Richard decided tonight would be special, and in opposition to his normal routine, he would look for someone he actually liked and was sincerely – _ahem_ – attracted to.

This meant a whole new selection process though; no more just quickly scanning for cold sores and ‘regratful’ tattoos. Tonight he would read the bios and try to find somebody he could safely imagine in his loft bed, moaning his name like in his fantasies without the additional rush of wondering what would happen next with zero certainty of survival.

He shuffled in his sneakers and nervously bit his nails as he looked through all the bite-size descriptions for what felt like hours; he felt the pressure to make the right choice like if tonight wasn’t the right guy then he would never find one and it would always be hopeless. For some reason, tonight was going to be the deal-breaker, whether or not his caffeinated heart could take the stress.

After about twenty minutes of anxious browsing and three matches he ignored until he was ready to weigh his options, he ran across one profile that stood out to him though.

No pictures of this man’s face – just a mirror selfie of a slender, pale body without a head in frame and an almost artistically posed dick-pic – and Richard’s mouth hung open just a little. His eyes fixated on this man’s frame, tracing every line, muscle, and detail with focus, looking for a reason to swipe left, until he – incredibly, considering the standards set for the night – found none.

This man’s bathroom looked clean and painstakingly decorated – the towels matched the drapes matched the fine details on the sink hardware – and his pubic hair was (“ _Oh, gosh_.”) well groomed to say the least. His stomach was almost completely flat, and his hipbones stood fairly prominent out against the rest of his figure, casting light shadows against his skin.

Richard had never really felt _attracted_ to a man like this; “this” was all something he did when he checked out mentally – he was always absent when he was on here looking for men to hook-up with. This was something that he did on auto-pilot, but no, he was being dragged back to reality by the frightening reality of his first, sincere, gay liaison that he was actually invested in, and now he was met with the first man he had a crush on.

It was terrifying for a moment, he’ll admit, but then it was okay. And then it was better.

The feeling filled him up and he imagined all the possibilities of what could happen with this man; he didn’t even know what his face looked like but Richard imagined them living happily ever after in his loft bed, having sex with affection for a change. It was so thrilling to finally feel close to this pipe dream he had spent months of emotionless blowjobs chasing. Something about this guy… Richard didn’t even feel the need to read his bio, but he did so anyway.

“Donny, age 30”

Richard smiled a little at the name.

 _Donny and Richie. That sounds nice_ , he thought to himself.

His bio read:

“Hello! You can call me Donny. I’m a business manager in Palo Alto just looking for some temporary companionship. I’m not particularly interested in a relationship right now but I also don’t enjoy entirely meaningless hookups. I’m interested in men and women, but I have a slight preference for men as of late. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day/night.”

Richard smiled at how semi-formal his bio seemed – just the perfect mixture of professional and sweet.

Richard held his breath and swiped right nervously, suddenly feeling a major dip in his confidence, but his heart jumped when, “It’s a match!” popped up on his screen.

He smiled and went to his messages, completely ignoring the rest of the night’s matches, waiting a moment to see if this _Donny_ would message first.

Lo and behold though, he did, and within two minutes, Richard received the cheery first message:

“Hello, sweetheart. How are you doing?”


	3. Decide

They talked for a few hours that night, throwing back and forth messages about the valley, their jobs, their sexual preferences, what they liked to do in their spare time. And it was so much _fun_ to talk like this! Even just talking about all this monotone nonsense, Richard bet that given how much he liked Donny platonically, the sex had to be light-years better than what he usually got himself into.

But it came to an end when Donny eventually said around one AM:

“Well I’m sorry to hear that you’re behind on some of your work, but I really have to get to bed. I start work pretty early in the morning and when I don’t get enough sleep, things get pretty dancey.”

Richard tilted his head and laughed a little.

“That’s funny,” he wrote. “One of my business partners says that sometimes.”

To which Donny replied: “That is funny! Small world I suppose.”

Richard brushed off the comment quickly, seeing no apparent connections, instead saying:

“Yeah, I suppose.”

There was a pause, but Donny then sent the second to last message:

“I’ll message you tomorrow, Richie. We can set up a time and place if you would like? I would love to see you in person.”

Richard put his phone down and thought it over, because it turned out to truly be a pickle. He was finally being offered someone he thought he could really enjoy having sex with – someone who wouldn’t fuck him through a gloryhole with no aftercare – but now that the seemingly perfect guy was being presented on a silver platter, Richard was apprehensive of the consequences.

What if Richard was wrong? What if his pipe dreams were just that? What if this was wishful thinking and he would never really find someone he would feel good about sleeping with? Maybe he should stop messaging Donny altogether instead of risking his hopes that all his expectations and idealistic dreams would one day be fulfilled by a magic knight in shining armor.

But no, he decided.

Worst-case scenario, he did what he did every other night and tried again in a few weeks. Besides, Donny showed promise. He didn’t need to psyche himself out like this.

And so he sent the final message:

“Yeah. I would love that eventually. Tomorrow then.”


	4. Ignorance

Eight AM, Richard rolled out of bed and sleepily checked his phone to see a message from an hour before, eliciting a giddy smile.

“Good morning! I trust you slept well?”

Richard smiled at his phone, wrapping his mind around every word and keeping every syllable for safekeeping, knowing that this Donny probably woke up with him as the first thing on his mind. Richard always felt like an afterthought, not forgotten but not prioritized, but this Donny was obviously thinking of him more than anyone else ever had – friends and romantic partners combined. He was in a near trance, holding his phone so close to his face he could feel the bluelight hurting his tired eyes.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, mind racking to find a clever or sexy or cute or sweet response or at least something to impress him, when a heavy-handed knock landed on his door.

Richard jumped and almost dropped his phone in his spasm, quickly choking out a:

“Y-yes?”

He stood terrified for a moment, feeling like he had just been caught with his emotional pants around his ankles, until he heard Jared’s quiet voice say, “Richard? May I come in?”

Richard sighed and clutched his chest, quickly turning off his phone and throwing it on his desk. At least it was just Jared.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jared slowly opened the door, fully dressed, and handed Richard a cup of coffee, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Brought you a half-calf.”

Richard appreciated the catering but shied away from the affection when Jared got too close. It was weird to be taken care of by men during waking hours, he realized. If Jared had brought him a coffee in the dead of night with the blinds drawn, it would have been different. It wasn’t bitter and embarrassing if no one saw them. Maybe if he just did this sometime in the light, it would stop feeling shameful – to rip off the feeling like a bandage. Or maybe if Jared just brought Richard coffee in the middle of the night sometime… To know how it would feel if the waking actions were taken into the night instead of the opposite…

Richard zoned out, absently fixing his eyes on some object in the direction of the door, as he thought this, drowning out the ambient noise of the early morning, until Jared brought him back.

“Richard? Richard, are you okay?”

Richard nodded his head and drank some of his coffee to avoid eye contact.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jared sighed with his concerned relief.

“Oh, well – I’m glad. How did your night go otherwise? Did you stay up late working?”

Richard kept the coffee mug up to his lips to keep his words garbled.

“Something like that…”


	5. Anxieties

Donny was patient – which Richard appreciated.

The men he usually found were more or less impatient, only putting in effort that matched the actions performed; meaning that the men who just wanted a blowjob through a gloryhole would text Richard for about twenty minutes, and those who texted longer would soon realize Richard’s limits and give it a rest.

But it had been a week, a whole week of good morning and good night and good day messages, talking to Donny about everything he could think of, and Donny always messaging back without missing a beat. Richard had every reason to fall head over heels for him, and he could feel his heart race in a good way all the time – which he frankly didn’t know existed – but part of him still feared that this kind of happiness was a fever dream and that he would eventually have to leave to go back to a life of self-hatred and swallowing cum next to toilets. The part of him so used to being an unnecessary addendum constricted every fiber of him that was daring to feel something – anything – for anyone – let alone a man.

Because something about it being a guy made it all the more terrifying. With women, it was just synthetic; it was all stage-props and plastic and fake and he only realized painfully late into his sexual escapades with women that orgasms aren’t equitable to pleasure. If something went wrong with whichever girlfriend, then he would slink back to his bedroom and try again in three years, but then with men, it was real! It was all real and vibrant and intoxicating and addictive and erotic and embarrassing but in the good way – which is another thing he didn’t know existed.

Emotionally, Richard was moving in unchartered territory, and there was no playbook of misinformed decisions in his Rolodex of failed relationships to look back to while he tried to “seduce” Donny. There were high stakes with him! If it went wrong, it wouldn’t hurt as a surface scratch, just wounding his male-ego like it would be if Donny were a girl; he could tell that if it went south it would be much worse than any “heartbreak” he had ever experienced before.

But his worries didn’t end there; constant doubts ricocheted through his head day and night, in between every text notification sound, in between every meal, and in between every block of code he wrote. He feared more than anything else the idea of Donny being a delusional hope.

Maybe Donny wasn’t the one, or even anyone! Maybe Richard’s paranoia was really just intuition and maybe he was onto something with fearing what would happen if their relationship never reached fruition, or even worse, did and then failed.

Maybe Donny was just an artistic dick pic that was leading Richard on for whatever cruel reason; or maybe it was all an actual rem-cycle dream; or even worse, as he thought of late at night when Donny took too long to respond, this was just a computer stimulation like Elon Musk said in that one video he watched.

Richard would clutch his phone tight against his chest and feel his heart race as he waited for message after message, fearing with a stomach full of agitated butterflies that he would be left on read despite his critical thinking pointing out the logical fallacies. He would look up at the ceiling until he saw patterns in the paint and felt his eyes drift out of focus; something about this was even more stressful and emotional taxing than the nonsense he used to get himself into. Letting someone know you before they decide to fuck you seemed much more dangerous than just offering an opening and then brushing your teeth when you got home.

There was a lot more betting on this, he understood. Donny was the dream actualized; Donny was the interruption in the system; Donny was going to tear the whole goddamn system down and hold Richard when they eventually fucked; but that was it: who said that Donny would even fuck him? If his hopes personified actually got to know him and _then_ rejected him, then there truly was no chance that he would ever sexually venture away from his routines. So much was being risked in this; if it didn’t work out with Donny, not only would he lose his final chance, but more than likely, Donny would take the pre-existing layout with him. Then Richard would only be left with the synesthetic relations with women, fantasies, and a wad of shame in the center of his soul.

But then Donny would respond with:

“Sorry – I went to get a glass of water.”

And Richard would calm down.

And of course even with how much he talked to Donny, he still confided in Jared for all his professional issues and whatever medical ailment was plaguing his poorly treated body; and in return Jared would tell him about his horrifying childhood in various anecdotes while they drank coffee, but there were certain things that Jared just couldn’t provide for Richard that Donny could.

Not only did Donny offer the chance for ejaculation and affection, but Donny also knew nothing of who Richard really was. Richard could cultivate whoever he wanted through his phone, and Donny could get to know a whole different Richard. Every now and then Richard would have a brief thought of Jared – who was a self-identified “sexual being” – as some kind of sexual partner, sometimes on the floors of bathrooms, sometimes in his bed rubbing his dick with his eyes half-open, but it all was a hypothetical he could safely consider in the dead of night, not an actual, real daydream like with Donny.

And besides, Jared had seen Richard vomit more times than he could count, do immoral things, act a fool, and be an asshole – so why would Jared ever go for him even if he had the same kind of brief ideas as Richard did? Donny didn’t know anything like that. Donny knew Richard as, “Richie, age 28” and a blurry dick pic and one-liners he thought were clever while they texted; Richard could be a new person with Donny. Donny could see the best of Richard, the highlights reel, the edited and planned; and then, statistically, Donny would have a lower chance of losing interest in Richard, ergo, Richard would be spared emotional turmoil, a life of empty sex, and a never-ending longing for the gentle touch of a gentle man.

But also – who said that Donny was a gentle man?


	6. Insecurities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to update this! I've been really busy with school lately and I've been having family troubles so my writing has been in the very back of my mind lately.

Around ten AM, a lazy Friday morning, three weeks of texting, a decline of worry, an influx of back and forth messaging, wandering conversations, wandering hands (his own though of course) – and Richard stepped out of the shower to see the day’s first text.

“Good morning, darling.”

Richard of course blushed as he wrapped his towel around his waist and tiptoed to his bedroom out of the steamy, messy bathroom.

He sat down at his desk chair, still dripping a little, and replied with a simple:

“Good morning.”

(No smiley face because that was too much but also no exclamation point because that would be too loud this early in the morning, and no emojis because for God’s sake Richard was an adult; Donny could infer the intended seductive tone.)

Richard put his phone down to dry off a little more thoroughly, looking at his body with a slight taste of distain, until he heard his phone beep with a notification. The worry and constant doubts regarding the relationship thankfully subsided, but the incessant insecurities had proven to be stubborn.

His legs were too long, his thighs were too pale, he had a weirdly shaped stomach, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at his chest and longing for a little more muscle, just to look a little bit more masculine, and what are balls even supposed to look like, I mean are any supposed to be pretty, but, really, he bet that Donny’s were pretty whatever they looked like and –

“Richard, I don’t know if you feel that this is too soon, but I would really love to see you in person.”

Richard stopped and held his breath a little.

He wrapped his towel tightly around his body, suddenly feeling that it would be best to have no figure at all with nothing to criticize or even look at, and felt every muscle he had constrict like a rubber band about to snap.

Some voice of reason in the back of his mind reprimanded that this is what he wanted! He wanted to have sex with Donny and he wanted it to be Donny specifically! He loved talking to Donny and he loved listening to Donny and he loved being listened to, and everything was going well. And this is what he wanted.

So why was he so apprehensive?

A second message quickly came reading:

“I don’t mean to come off as too forward, but I’m not good at concealing my emotions like this.”

Richard turned off his phone and gripped it tightly.

_This is what you want, you moron! This is the dream you’ve had! Get out of your own way and enjoy yourself for once! You idiot!_

This _was_ what he had been dreaming about – literally – and this is what he had been longing for the entire time that he was lurking on the apps he hid in folders within folders within folders on his phone.

But still, the lingering fear of this not working out – this one in particular – remained; he still felt that if this didn’t go right, there was no hope. Donny had gotten to know Richard fairly well considering they were on an app for anonymous sex, but he realized that a worse fate than Donny losing interest after getting to know him would be Donny losing interest after fucking him.

He had never been confident sexually – _Who is?_ – but he had also never felt the urge to really impress anyone he slept with. There was no chance sex with women would ever go well so why even bother with being anxious if you’re just going to sleep in your pants or elbow her or something and then break up with her because – _psshh I don’t know_ – she tied her shoelaces the wrong way.

Women just didn’t work like that – really the only pro was that they were warm – but he didn’t know if men worked like that. So far, he had only given blowjobs and messed around with his best friend in high school that he was always embarrassed to even think about – so what if he was even worse at sex with men? I mean, blowjobs are oral _sex_ but it wasn’t the same kind of vulnerable with his mouth open compared to his legs spread.

What if he disappointed Donny or wasn’t good or was too inexperienced or was clumsy or got too nervous or –

“Richard? Did I say something wrong?”

His phone vibrated in his tightly gripped hands and he let his mind race for a moment more before he responded.

There were a lot of moving parts here – a lot to process. The uncertainty of rejection was near debilitating and he felt his joints lock as if his mind was shutting down the fine motor skills required for typing.

But in his mind, this was the last chance. And that could be reason to back out in fear, or it was motivation to take a risk in the name of sexual satisfaction. Or maybe even in the name of –

But no. That would be too much. He’d known Donny for four weeks. He couldn’t like him like that. Donny was nice enough to have actual sex with but that wasn’t – that was – that couldn’t be.

It was a ridiculous thought.

But the payoff was worth the risk if this went well even just a little bit.

“No you didn’t say anything.”

A deep inhale and a locked jaw.

“I would love to finally meet with you.”


	7. Planning

Well the first time they met would obviously have to be in a public place – a café, park, mall, anything with witnesses.

Richard could tell that Donny wasn’t going to turn out to be some kind of old man intent on being predatory, but he also wasn’t new to this. You meet in public for the first time; it’s just a rule to this kind of thing. He had never gone on a _date_ – he figured you wouldn’t consider what he was doing before this very romantic – but there was a reason he never went to an apartment to give a blowjob.

For one, he would have to see them face-to-face and probably _speak_ to them (God forbid) but he there also wasn’t a calculable risk factor for when you go to a stranger’s house or otherwise place of residence for anonymous sex; of all the things that could go sideways – how compatible they were sexually, how productive communication was if they got into something heavier than blowjobs, the idea of any feeling being reciprocated on Richard’s part; he wasn’t willing to play Russian roulette like that with his dick involved.

So they would meet in a public place. Maybe a café. But maybe not with caffeine – he couldn’t risk the extra nervousness. Maybe just some tea or just a croissant. Or maybe a bagel – he might think croissants are pretentious. But a parfait would be safe – fruit and Greek yogurt would be good and make Donny think he’s healthy, but then if they kissed Richard would have yogurt-breath. Maybe he could just give some coffee a chance and hope the caffeine didn’t stop his heart. Maybe if his heart just stopped that would be better.

He stood in front of his desk in his bedroom; looking at all the different shirts and sweaters he had – _who even needs this much plaid?_ – wondering what combination to wear. His favorite khakis were a must – comfortable, elastic waistband, soft fabric, easy to get off in case something or anything happened, even if that something was it going horribly and jerking himself off in the bathroom while crying; however the day went.

He arranged all his hoodies and sweaters and shirts on the floor, looking at all of them with an intensity that he had never dedicated to clothing. Shit, he had never cared about anything regarding his physical appearance this much.

But this was Donny. This was his last chance; this was it; today would set the precedent for the rest of his life regarding sex and romance. Everything had to go absolutely perfect; this was going to be the moment of truth; Richard could finally prove himself as more than an afterthought, someone worthy of a “good morning” text, someone deserving the daydreams he had about having sex that wasn’t just sexualized humiliation shrouded in erotic self-hatred; if they kissed and he had yogurt breath he might as well walk into traffic right there.

He checked his phone, seeing that it was 12:04 PM. Dinesh and Gilfoyle were still waking up and making coffee, Jared had gone to a doctor’s appointment about forty-five minutes earlier, and Richard had to be at the coffee shop that was 15 minutes away by 1:15 PM. This was doable. Given that he could find something to wear.

He watched the time closely; being late would be just as bad as being early so he was going to be as fashionably punctual as he could.

He began to absent-mindedly pick up his clothes and rearrange them with just his undershirt and khakis on, shuffling his weight as his seemingly infinite string of anxieties ran through his mind.

In the midst of all of them though, one stood out the most: what if they have sex?

Anonymous blowjobs were not what he was signing up for with this; this was actual fucking and this was with Donny, who was not particularly shy with his affections; this was going to be intimate. Oh God this was going to be intimate.

Richard couldn’t tell if the feeling in his stomach was excitement or fear, but he figured it was probably a healthy mixture of both; somewhere between attraction and terror.

Donny and him had not _sexted_ – meaning that they did not send erotic messages or any corresponding photos, heaven forbid. Mostly because Richard was not a creative writer and knew that he couldn’t paint a picture with his clumsy syntax, and he didn’t have the kind of body you could desirably capture in photos, but also because Donny seemed like such a pearl-clutcher. He talked about how much he liked birds and Richard talked about how he liked to look at the moon and the stars at night; Donny seemed to have an infinite amount of time to watch various documentaries about civil wars in undeveloped countries and Richard was always pulling his hair out over one module or another: they never really _explicitly_ went over what the like to do.

_So what do you like, you moron?_

He was amazed that the thought had not crossed his mind before this moment with how caught up he was in just the mundane conversations; this was the first time he really thought about what he might like.

He “liked” giving blowjobs in the sense that they made him feel needed and temporarily eased his fear of being a useless appendage in every area of his life, but otherwise they didn’t really benefit _him_. The thought of anyone finding him useful was enough to give him a boner, but not the actual act of having a dick in his mouth – or at least when it was those dicks in particular.

He thought maybe the porn he watched would give some clues, considering it was part of the reason he figured out he wasn’t into women like that; none of it was ever with women, even before he realized that it wasn’t his thing.

Thinking over his recent browser history though, all the videos he watched as he held his phone close to his face under the covers past midnight; it seemed that everything he watched was very talkative, but comparatively quiet.

He didn’t like the ones with oiled-up beefcakes grunting and choking each other in those brightly lit sterile rooms that looked like fluorescent light bulb ads; but rather the videos where they would go slowly and ask questions and sigh and moan and breathe heavily and kiss in cozy bedrooms or on carpeted floors or on window sills or sometimes in woods for whatever godforsaken reason.

_Can I? Do you want to? Let me see your face. You’re so good. You’re so pretty. Say my name._

The most erotic phrases he could think of were always about consent or offering praise or affection, and, frankly, what could better describe what his relationship to sex was? So deprived of the basic affection he never seemed capable of receiving or even asking for that he got turned on by naked men who were most likely strangers just calling each other pretty.

It seemed pathetic; how desperate he was for that kind of attention. It always seemed too good for him; he didn’t deserve all that kindness he dreamed of and even if he did, it was too far away from his real life. So he resided to a life of heterosexual abstinence and homosexual promiscuity. It seemed fitting to him with how incapable he was otherwise.

And that raised another anxiety: Donny would without a doubt be too good for Richard if they ended up having sex.

Donny would no doubt be that kind of caring – the kind of caring Richard always fled from, even coming just from Jared in the form of innocuously affirmative hugs. Donny would absolutely give all that praise and ask all those questions, but Richard didn’t necessarily have a problem with that part; he worried what he would say as answers.

He always dreamed of this fantasy in his loft bed, with gentle touches and soft moans, but now that it was a real possibility looking him in the face, he felt his stomach fill with dread. Maybe there was a reason that he had never gotten what he so desperately wanted. What if when Donny asked him if he wanted to do something he wouldn’t be able to say, “yes” even if he did want to, just because of his own self-hatred? It was a real possibility that Richard would ruin the conversation and ergo ruin the experience by letting his self-hating self-deprivation get in the way of them doing something.

A certain amount of confidence was required for being that vulnerable with somebody and Richard just…didn’t have it. He hadn’t noticed over text how little confidence he had in real life, but now reality was slapping him and asking him how he wanted it, and he had no right answer.

But he was working on his anxiety. Maybe he wouldn’t gain the confidence before he and Donny had sex, but it could be made up for in how comfortable he became with Donny. Maybe the coffee would go so well, he could go to Donny’s house and they would tear each other’s clothes off like in movies.

That in particular was unrealistic, but Richard took a deep breath and said, _You are making mountains out of molehills._

Which he was. Sex would be awkward. Indubitably. Absolutely. There was no possibility that it would be anything else. But he was overestimating the extent to which it would be clumsy. Donny certainly seemed experienced and caring and careful and mindful of every aspect of a situation.

Richard was unreasonably tearing apart the situation just like he was the contents of his closet.


	8. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I got a little/a lot sidetracked with this chapter but I feel like in the context of the story, Richard only having really slept with only one other man is a prelude to the story arc with Jared! If you want to, you can skip this chapter because it doesn't affect the plot, but it adds to how his character continues to develop. Somebody said that I'm drawing this fic out too long but to hell with anybody who *doesn't* want 9k+ words of Richard character studies lol
> 
> (It is no coincidence that Jake calls him "Richie" and that's what he goes by online by the way!!)

Aside from all that he had recently done with guys from his dating apps, he had only had relations with one other man.

He never told anyone about it aside from a journal he kept his junior year of high school; not even the girlfriend he had for the longest – which was still only a year and a half, but impressive for him – had gotten the slightest bit of information on his adolescent adventures.

It was always in the very back of his mind if it was in his mental orbit at all, and for years he pretended that it was some kind of fever dream or hallucination that didn’t even happen; but with his first date with a man this afternoon – not first hookup, not first kiss, not first one-sided obsession – he couldn’t help but remember his only previous romantic rendezvous.

It wasn’t even a boy he was close to. Just a guy – some kid from the neighborhood and his English class – that he had never really spoken to. Somebody in the same grade as him with blonde disheveled hair, a slender frame always covered with baggy clothes that smelled like weed, and yet still muscular as Richard could see when he did lawn work shirtless.

He was intimidating to say the least; scrawny, teenage Richard, afraid of girls and his own shadow, pressured by every force in his life to get a girlfriend or learn how to speak or walk without tripping or gain full control of his limbs, stumbling to his calculus class with his books in his hands and a stuffed backpack – adolescent Richard pursued by who, at the time, seemed to be the coolest person to ever grace the earth.

“ _Jake_.”

If Jake didn’t smell like marijuana, he smelled like cologne, and if he wasn’t asking Richard for a pencil or pen or eraser or piece of paper, he was asking for the answer to #3 or #4 or #9; if he wasn’t slouching in his seat rhythmically tapping his pencil against his desk, it seemed that Jake was leaning towards Richard’s desk. He was such a man of extremes to Richard as timid as he was.

Richard knew that he was a womanizer too – that was the school consensus. He had either fucked, was fucking, or was going to fuck every girl in their grade; and yet he never seemed to have many friends either. He had the guys he would go to the parking lot with during lunch to get high with, and at lunch he would sit with other kids, but he was always so _silent_. He was in every group and was always with other people, and yet Richard only ever heard Jake audibly speak to him.

It was confusing for Richard.

Something about Jake made his palms sweat and his heart beat out of rhythm; his stomach would feel tight, especially lower towards his pelvis and he found himself often thinking about Jake when he wasn’t around. What the two of them would talk about if they talked more, what it would like if they hung out every day, what Jake would like completely naked, and – if no one was around to read his mind – what Jake would look like completely naked in Richard’s proximity.  _Jake and Richie has such a nice ring to it, when you really think about it_ , he would sometimes say to himself.

Every day at lunch, Richard would sit with his computer club friends, distantly listening to them babble on about this and that, but he would never really listen and instead glance over to Jake every couple of minutes from across the cafeteria. Usually they locked gazes at least once every day. Jake would sometimes smile at Richard. And Richard would _always_ blush.

After school, Richard would often walk home the long way so that he could casually stroll past Jake’s house in the hope that he was outside doing something; and he was always doing _something_ , but it’s just that when it was hotter out, he would do whatever he was doing without his shirt on. If it was seventy degrees or higher, you could bet cash that Richard was quickly shuffling home past Jake’s house.

He couldn’t help but do it, even though he acknowledged it might be considered a little creepy, but he didn’t know what was making him do it exactly. He recognized later that it was the same magnetism that dragged him to gay bar after gay bar to find men to blow when he was an adult; it was the same cosmic pull then as it was more than ten years later, whispering, _This is what you need to get, even if it happens the wrong way._

It took months but Jake slowly started to speak to Richard beyond asking to borrow various office supplies. And they became slightly close; at least in the sense that they found common ground in both hating the class and would listen to each other’s stories of completely different lives. Jake and Richard might as well have lived in different dimensions with their completely opposite social lives and hobbies; but they were both always eager to hear what grass was like on the other side.

Their side-conversations in English and their eye-contact during lunch were about the extent of their interaction for most of the school year but it wasn’t soon before they started speaking during passing periods and after school; in the one class they shared, they spoke constantly, usually getting a slap on the wrist from their dreaded English teacher.

After awhile, Jake started waving at Richard when he walked past his house and usually smiled, in fact; for the winter months Richard felt incredibly deprived for not having the ability to look at Jake’s figure and get a smile ever so often.

And it was during these “deprived” winter months that Richard started touching himself to the idea of Jake.

He had had that tightening in his lower stomach before when a well-formed man with a strong jaw walked past him, and so it wasn’t that alien of a sensation; but none had ever been this intense. He had jerked off to guys before, but previously, it had been that a man turned him on and then he thought of women to pretend that he wasn’t sexually stimulated by men to begin with. (“ _If I think about girls during it, then it’s not gay!_ ”)

It was the same phenomena as his later adult life where his attraction to men was always secret and in the dark and at night; and all other times he was playing Mr. Straight through gritted teeth.

But when thinking of Jake, he never thought of women even for a moment. Jake was tantalizing enough for him that he didn’t even bother feeling ashamed until after he finished.

This is not to imply that Richard had accepted his sexuality in that way, but Jake was the forbidden fruit that was too good to refuse. He filled up Richard’s mind and shoved out every other thought for about fifteen minutes every night.

So it was understandable why Richard didn’t think twice when Jake asked if he could get some “help with his math homework.”

(“ _Y-yeah – I mean – yeah – of course – I can. I can do that._ ”)

He knew that it wouldn’t just be studying. There would be _something_. Jake didn’t really have bad grades in any of his classes; he wasn’t on honor roll, but he also wasn’t flunking anything. There was an ulterior motive that he didn’t know about; Richard had a hope or dream or fantasy or repressed memory or something in his mind that he thought would be best in a perfect world; but he was also aware that this is not a perfect world. He hid the loose thoughts in the farthest corners of his mind though; and even during the day, it was all still hiding in the darkness that was his teenage kaleidoscope identity.

But the looks Jake always shot his way, the smiles, the phrases, the questions, the nods in the hallway – Jake felt _some_ way about Richard. Richard didn’t understand social interactions or cues, and it was really a game of chance, but Jake was a man of extremes; Richard thought it fit well within his boundaries that he be a notorious womanizer and also seduce men. A man of opposites. A man of sexual opposites, hopefully.

And it’s not that Richard couldn’t accept himself because he was homophobic in that regard – it was just that _other people_ were gay. That’s not what _he_ did – who _he_ was. His identity was wrapped in computers and books and tabs over spaces; he didn’t have any room for any of that emotional, sexual stuff. All he could accept about his sexuality was that he always wanted to fuck something.

He had his life laid out for him as he had thought of it when he was thirteen years old; he had a plan and he had goals, and being even more of a social outcast than he already was just didn’t fit in. His feelings and certainly his romantic life were always an epilogue that he never really paid much mind to; and if he did, he repressed it immediately.

One Friday after school, Jake walked Richard to his house after finding him in the parking lot at 3:30, picking up for “tutoring.” Jake had asked on Monday if Richard could help him with “his homework” and between that Monday and Friday, Richard had gotten about eight hours of sleep.

Jake gave a half-cocked grin as he came up to Richard from behind and smacked his back – the exact type of hyper-masculine camaraderie Richard never liked, but graciously accepted from Jake. Coming from any other man it would have felt aggressive or belittling, but in this scenario specifically it felt sweet – like he was being appreciated as worthy of such a gesture. A smack of endearment, if you will.

Jake gave a smile that Richard would have considered shit-eating from anyone else and said a greeting that sounded miles away; Richard pressed his lips into a thin line and tried his hardest not to blush when he realized how big and warm Jake’s hands were against his shirt.

They walked slowly and it took about twenty minutes to get back to the house, but there wasn’t a moment that they were silent. Jake talked about his friends, what they were into (weed), what he did in his free time, how he had an older brother in college, how he spent most of his weekends working at a bookstore, prompting Richard to ask surprised if he was a big reader; to which Jake took no offense and said, “Yeah, absolutely. TV is too kinetic for me.”

Conversely, Richard rambled on about his friends, what they were into (computers), how he spent hours in his bedroom doing homework even for the classes he despised, how he spent a lot of time by himself writing code in various notebooks, and this cool project he had about something that would probably take too long to explain that he named “Pied Piper.”

Richard was amazed that such a more advanced and cooler guy was paying such attention to him – how one of the “bad boys” was listening about his coding hobby and walking him to his house to “study.”

The concept of getting such attention from a “bad boy” followed him down the street, up the steps, through the front door, and up the stairs of Jake’s home. Time seemed to walk away from him as they spoke, maybe making a left turn when they made a right, or stopping to look at the scenery while they kept moving; but it was Jake, Richard, and a house that got farther away with every step they took.

Richard eventually found himself sitting on Jake’s bed though, with his hands placed neatly in his lap and waiting for Jake to come back from the kitchen with two sodas. His room wasn’t clean but also wasn’t messy – just about the same amount of cluttered as Richard’s – and the bed was painstakingly made. The light coming in from the windows was warm and bright, allowing the room an orange haze.

The room was pretty and there were posters and paintings and photos plastered on the wall; it seemed that as well as being a womanizer, stoner, and avid reader, he was also a visual art enthusiast. The feeling that he was in over his head did not leave him.

He felt bad for having his sneakers on the white carpeting, but hadn’t heard if it was a shoes-on or off house yet. Of all the things to have anxiety about, it seemed to be the simplest but he still shifted his weight and thought of every possible outcome that could be brought to fruition in the next three hours.

They do homework; Richard does homework and Jake takes credit; Jake does homework and Richard watches; Jake kisses Richard; Jake and Richard kiss; Jake holds Richard and Richard is little spoon; Jake turns out to be an experienced man and fucks Richard, Richard gets kicked out for not taking his shoes off –

“Two cokes.”

Jake closed the door quietly behind him and handed a can to Richard with a smile. Richard noticed how his hand lingered on the door handle for a moment.

“We’re out of Sprite, sorry.”

Richard gracefully received the bottle but didn’t open it, just resting it next to him, with a quiet, “Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

He felt his cheeks flush and could tell that he looked incredibly embarrassed or shy or scared or maybe all of the above, but most of all felt Jake’s eyes on him as he turned away to place the soda down. Jake sat down next to Richard on the bed and leaned back with his weight balanced on his hands; he seemed to be examining Richard, like there was a puzzle somewhere to solve or an expression to simplify; a Rubik’s Cube of sexual repression. Not to say there weren’t riddles and equations to solve in him – there most certainly was – but what frightened Richard was how Jake could _tell_.

When he pulled his head back up, Richard was surprised to see how close Jake was to him on the bed, appearing to be leaning ever so slightly in his direction. Richard’s mind raced to figure out if he was imagining things or if he was misreading the situation or this was one big mistake – but Jake spoke before he could vomit a clumsy string of stutters.

“So are you ready to do some homework, Richie? We’ll be alone for awhile; my mom is out of town until tomorrow morning.”

Jake smiled with a fondness Richard had never seen directed at him in this kind of context: alone, with someone who gave him that feeling in his lower stomach, who paid attention to him, who listened with sincerity; maybe it was some kind of twinkle in his eyes or the way his smile perked at the edge of his lips, but Jake seemed to be offering an invitation of some kind that Richard just couldn’t decode. He learned far too late in life that relationships and human interactions can’t be approached like code and binary in series of black and white numbers; he couldn’t for the life of him unwrap the mysteries that were Jake’s grin in a way that wouldn’t involve logarithmic properties.

Richard coughed a little bit and cleared his throat, trying to sound as manly as he could even though he felt small and utterly outmatched.

“Y-yeah, yup. Totally.”

Richard tilted his head and rubbed the back of his ear as he waited for a response, wondering for a moment if there was a hidden aneurysm in his head that would be at risk of bursting that afternoon.

Jake didn’t say anything or give any inclination that he would move; he sat where he was with his hands firmly planted in the duvet, smiling at Richard. He was hoping that the hints would make their way over to Richard sometime during the century, but frankly he was willing to wait.

Once Richard dropped his hand and looked up at Jake, he realized that neither of them were going to move toward the backpack leaning against the desk on the other side of the room. Not a chance.

He faintly heard the hints but couldn’t fathom the implications; his daydreams were coming up to him and asking for his hand and yet he was hesitant because it seemed too good to be true. He felt like pinching himself to make sure that this wasn’t some horrendous misconception on his part or a terrifying lucid dream.

“ _This can’t be real_.”

“U-uh, the – your backpack? The homework?”

Richard vaguely pointed in the direction of the desk and bit the inside of his lip, but Jake shook his head a little with that same grin from before that Richard would have clocked as shit-eating on anyone else.

Everything seemed to quicken to the speed of light, whizzing past Richard’s eyes in brisk succession, every sensation bombarding him one after the other without any time to breathe before the next.

Richard’s eyes glazed over and his heart vibrated instead of beating; Jake shifted his weight off the palms of his hands, leaning forward and placing one on Richard’s jaw; both hands were soon touching him, his face and waist gripped gently; eyes darting from eyes to lips to eyes; a silent question that deafened them both; a small gasp; two balled fists against a toned chest; and time slowed to every second feeling like a millennia as Jake leaned over just enough to graze Richard’s lips with his.

He didn’t remember the moments before his question and them kissing; it seemed like time jumped and there was a leap from reality into the alternate dimension that the rest of the afternoon seemed to take place in. There was a hole in his memory that was surely just a few seconds but felt like an eternity that alluded him.

The bedroom felt as if it melted away and dripped down a drain as Jake gently pushed Richard onto his back on the bed; there was absolutely nothing but his hands and his legs and his torso and his lips and their bodies pressed against each other. His heart ceased to race and slowed as much as medically possible without stopping and Jake’s hands moved toward his neck and chest; nothing was in their surroundings but empty space and the forces pushing them together.

Every sensory aspect of the scene overwhelmed him and he had no time to stop or ask why him or what was going to happen or wait a moment more; he succumbed to the urges that had guided him past Jake’s house, guided his hand into his boxers every night, and now guided him toward Jake’s body itself. The gravitational pull was inescapable and unquestionable, listening to no input but Richard’s hormones.

But that’s not to say that Richard tried to resist the force at all.

Looking back on it, gripping the steering wheel, anxiously checking the time to see that it was 1:13 PM, Richard tried to remember what happened that afternoon afterward.

He remembered Jake’s incredibly snug hands gripping the back of his thighs through his jeans, realizing then how cold the room was in that moment; adding to the intensity of every sensation, from Jake’s stubble brushing against his skin when he kissed his neck to his groin being pressed against Richard’s. His mind raced as Jake gently coaxed his legs apart, moving further and further down his inner thigh.

_Why did he leave the window open this time of year? Why choose me? What is this? Would it be better if this were just a dream? Worse? What’s he – ?_

There seemed to be a push and pull in their kissing with how their bodies hit up against one another and the way that Jake seemed to lean in with every kiss he planted on Richard’s neck. He felt like he would just as soon dissolve into the bed before Jake kissed a little harder and grazed his teeth just enough for there to be a mark the next day.

Richard racked his brain to recall what happened next, but the next thought remembered was the way his eyes shot open and every muscle in his body flexed when Jake’s hand firmly grabbed his groin, lightly applying pressure, but just enough to make him jump back and gasp. Jake’s hand felt big and grasped Richard entirely, twisting his wrist as he reached down, feeling – well – better than anything he had ever felt before.

Richard hurried out from underneath Jake and stared at him, bug-eyed and terrified, feeling like he had just been grabbed by his neck and thrown out of the dream he was floating through; Jake instantly sat up, sitting on his knees, and looked back with a similar expression, feeling embarrassed, and admittedly foolish. He had never gone that fast with anyone and he could tell Richard wasn’t like anyone he had ever been with – meaning he was all but a virgin.

Jake tried to muster back his “bad boy” composure but struggled to summon it through the awkward moment.

This hadn’t happened to either of them before.

“Uh – j-jeez – sorry, Richie. Too fast?”

Richard clutched his chest – it was racing again now – and he looked down in his lap. This was too much. It was safe in his imagination, but in real life he was open to criticism and judgment and rejection, and Jake had just grabbed his _dick_. Jake’s hand wasn’t his own; he wasn’t in control anymore. This felt dangerous. He noticed how Jake’s smile wasn’t as cocky as it had been before; Jake’s expression was dampened by how deflated they both felt.

“I-I’m – yeah. Sorry. I don’t –“

Richard looked for something to say. He didn’t want to stop but he also didn’t know how to continue. It escalated too quickly, obviously meaning Jake was experienced – experienced enough to confidently grab someone’s dick after a minute of foreplay – but Richard’s reaction all but shouted that he was an amateur.

Richard bit the inside of his lip, letting them both stare at distant objects of their choosing, but in a brief moment of pure bliss – _“Fuck it! I'm taking my chances right here.”_ – he shook his head and leaned forward, kissing Jake. He reached his hands to rest on either side of Jake’s neck and curled his fingers into his disheveled hair. The kiss was clumsy and messy – truly graceless – but Jake reciprocated and reached for Richard’s waist.

Richard pulled away as he guided Jake on top of him.

“L-listen, I don’t know what I’m doing but – I – let’s – just go slow.”

Jake smiled in relief and grazed Richard’s jaw with his lips.

“Alright, Richie. Just tell me when.”

Richard tightened his jaw and made a sharp left turn at the thought of how Jake kissed him for about ten more minutes before pulling his shirt off over his head and unzipping his jeans.

Jake seemed to move like lightning; before he knew it, Richard was coming into his hand and arching his back with an embarrassingly loud moan. Jake seductively licked it off his fingers with his reoccurring cocky smile, prompting a wide-eyed adolescent Richard to bravely blow him at least until he choked and resided to jerking him off. The adrenaline of it all! He felt like he could do anything! Or at least until some of Jake’s cum got in his eye.

With another sharp turn and pulling into the parking lot, Richard thought no more of the following hour and a half; there was no use to think about how he and Jake got off; the feelings had all been tainted by the following decade of self-loathing and pitiless bathroom handjobs.

He looked at his phone to see it was 1:16 and bit the inside of his cheek; this was it. He was twenty feet from the door. His mind wandered as it spun and he remembered how after Jake came, they both fell flat on the then filthy bed and drifted off asleep.

By the time Richard woke up it was dark outside and the room felt about ten degrees colder; the window was still open and letting in wind, but once he had slipped back into his clothes he shut it.

Jake was still asleep, but seeing the remnants of the afternoon from a bird’s eye view – more level-headed than when he was being jerked off by the guy from his English class – Richard felt a pit of shame in his stomach. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, angry, self-hating, gross, sticky, dirty – it was scary and dangerous and he did it anyway, and how stupid was it of him to be vulnerable! It was nice while it lasted, but now it was all wrong. There was nothing to be proud of as he collected his shoes from Jake’s floor. Sex was supposed to be a conquest – loosing your virginity was something to brag about – but there was nothing to flaunt here. There was nothing worth remembering, he thought. In his mind, he didn’t lose his virginity until he disappointed some girl named Mary his sophomore year of college right before he dropped out.

He looked at Jake, sound asleep, chest slowly rising and falling, shirtless and arms spread across the pillows. Richard couldn’t help but remember wishing he could see Jake like this when his body was some landmark to pass on the way home from school, but now, here, it wasn’t as he had imagined. He thought for a moment about leaving a note or something – he didn’t want Jake to feel abandoned – but he decided against it.

Richard dug his short bitten nails into his wrist at the thought of how he tiptoed out of the house and a few blocks back over until he offered a shit excuse to his worried parents. He regretted not leaving a note, but he regret even more how he avoided Jake’s glance for the rest of the year.

Jake took the hint, and he didn’t try to talk either.

Richard sat somewhere else in English, he started skipping lunch, he took the shortest way home; and eventually Jake moved away with his mom, without speaking to Richard ever again. Richard never touched himself to the thought of Jake again; in fact he stopped touching himself at all, really. He never got to ask if Jake was bisexual or lied about sleeping with girls or if Richard was the only man he had ever been with. He never confirmed what it was about him that Jake liked; and Jake never did get that help with his math homework.

Richard wondered in the following years why he didn’t feel the usual shame until he was sneaking back home later that night, but he never obtained the personal insight that would be required.

The truth was that they saw no one else as they walked home that afternoon. Just the two of them, the occasional car, and birds tweeting in the trees around them; silence in their own little world. Richard felt no anxiety, no worries, no fear of judgment; he was entangled in that moment and Jake was filling his mind until every other thought was pushed out. There was nothing to be proud of and there was nothing to be ashamed of because there was nothing to think about other than Jake – there was absolutely nothing to flaunt because the prize to be won was just being near each other.

He wondered how he was so comfortable with Jake and didn’t have the same kind of debilitating disassociation in their brief relations that he had with every other following relationship in his adult life, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint it. Truly, it was that Jake filled his mind and wrapped around his consciousness until all that was in his head was thoughts of him.

They hung out that afternoon in complete isolation. The shame – ultimately deriving from fear of judgment, the discouragement from the distance between his dreams and his reality, and the self-hatred constantly reminding him that he did not deserve the kindness he desperately wanted – like the kind that Jake gave to him that afternoon: it all derived from how he couldn’t handle existing in the outside world as himself. And there was no time to worry about the outside world with Jake.

When he woke up, away from Jake in the sense that one was awake and the other was not, he came back to the real world in a way, and felt the burden of everything on his shoulders once more. With some of his cum still on Jake’s bedsheets, the shame was more intense than any he had ever felt; the proof was in front of him. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen and hide it in the back of his mind.

In isolation, as a teenager, home alone, with no close friends, no socially connected technology, and no house full of critical men pointing out all the flaws they saw in him; there wasn’t the same kind of danger. Sure, there was the pressure to be somebody else and there wasn’t really _time_ to be gay, but something about being thrusted into adult life as an intelligent college-dropout who emotionally stunted at age fifteen is what _completely_ ruined his ability to engage with men in waking hours. Jake was the only man who had ever had relations with Richard in the light during the day with acknowledgment and active participation.

Somehow, as Richard matured, he devolved in that way.

And perhaps all the anonymous sex and hoping for a better sex life one day was really, developmentally chasing Jake. Maybe Jake set the standard, but Richard’s repressed sexual identity ruined the possibility of his later relationships being of the same quality, the same way that his repressed sexual identity ruined him having a relationship with Jake; if he hadn’t erased every memory of the best experience of his high school life, maybe he wouldn’t have spent so long blowing strangers and then pretending it didn’t happen.

But hopefully chasing that standard and that dream would stop today.

Richard closed his eyes and grit his teeth before stepping out of his car.

 _Donny and Richie_ , he reminded himself. _It sounds nice._


	9. By Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to add a chapter!! I've had stuff with family, I had exams, and then the stuff with TJ Miller hit me pretty hard and it took me a second to get back into the show's circle. 
> 
> But I'm back and I should have another chapter up soon!

1:17

Fashionably punctual.

Richard walked into the café with his phone in his pocket and his hands balled into fists at his side. His legs felt like they had locked as soon as he crossed the threshold of the entrance and he struggled to shuffle to a table for two comfortably sitting between the door and the counter.

_Maybe I shouldn’t sit down just now._

Richard bit the inside of his lip and hesitantly took his phone out of his pocket once he sat. He felt like a fawn using its legs for the first time.

_Maybe Donny will want to pick our seats; I shouldn’t assume he’s okay sitting here. That isn’t my place. Maybe I should stand and wait. But maybe he’s running late – you know –_

He thought of every aspect of the event and how it could be perfected, because even the slightest thing going wrong could have catastrophic consequences; it was a butterfly affect. When Richard sits by the window without asking, he dies alone. This was his chance to prove himself, and there would only be him to blame if it went horribly.

Richard held his phone in his hands as he scanned the café for other tables suited for seating two people. _Taking up a table for four or something when it’s just two of us would be a dick move…_ Sitting by the window might include being blinded by the sunlight, but sitting too close to the door could be a safety hazard at worse at distracting at best. There was a wet floor sign so that would absolutely be out of the question what with how hampered his mobility was, but if he fell, Donny could heroically catch him.

He looked at the table and felt at peace in a way through all the cogs whirring in his mind. It felt reminiscent of the calm before a storm; his mind flashed with all the logistical mistakes that could be made, but felt like it was somehow in fate’s hands now. He was in a crowded coffee shop with the ambient noises of shouting orders and machines grinding, but he felt like he was walking down a sleepy suburban sidewalk with his hands in his pockets; just Donny and him alone and at peace. He was safely hidden in the crowd. Part of him thought as _if_ he was anxious – all the materials were there for him to be riddled with worry – and yet he felt calm. The coast was clear so far aside from the logistics of it all. It seemed that everything was falling into place with minimal pearl clutching.

_Donny probably won’t mind though, right?_

But it would only be polite to ask Donny where he was comfortable sitting.

He noticed that sitting at some of the tables were men, alone. Two out of three of them were on laptops with headphones, so almost absolutely were not Donny, but Richard realized that he had no idea what Donny looked like. Somehow he was so caught up in everything else when they were texting that he never asked for a photo of his face. And Donny hadn’t asked for a picture of Richard either! They would probably be able to find each other with ease by texting their whereabouts and what they were wearing or something, but Richard thought it was rather romantic that they were so infatuated that they didn’t consider anything besides talking to each other.

_Either way I bet he’s handsome!_

Richard unlocked his phone and went to the app about to send a message when one of the men on the other side of the café caught his eye. He didn’t realize it immediately; it took a second before the image even registered but when it did he couldn’t even look up to make sure he was seeing things correctly. His head shot down, facing his lap, terrified and unable to move, locked in place. (Maybe if he didn’t move and breathed _really_ quietly he could disappear…)

But if this was real the day would quickly unravel.

Richard cautiously looked up – part needing a confirmation one way or the other and part realizing he looked odd with his neck bent like that – and to his horror he saw a neatly combed head of hair in a light blue button up shirt.

Checking his watch, and patiently sitting with his hands in his lap, looking out the window, probably watching the birds.

 _Jared_.

This was ripped out of fate’s hands and everything fell back on Richard’s shoulders; even though this was probably just the chaos of the world bringing the two of them to the same place, now he had very few ways to haul ass and save the day. It was fully on him to rescue this date and prevent his doom but his options were shrinking rapidly.

His gaze bent, looking at the floor to the left of him, pretending to be fascinated enough to merit his staring, so that they didn’t (God forbid) make eye contact.

 _Fuck_.

Well Richard couldn’t message Donny now: Jared would see Richard on a date with another man! Donny couldn’t come; Donny couldn’t see this and Jared could not see Donny and Richard would die if he saw Jared see Donny. Not only would Richard not be able to handle his aspirations disappearing, but the emotional fallout of keeping a secret from Jared alone was terror-inducing.

Richard’s mind filled with anxiety – the anxiety that had been distant from the parking lot to this table – and his heart beat erratically as he scrambled to think of what to do. There were few moves in front of him, but there seemed to be even fewer right choices over wrong ones.

Richard looked back up to where Jared was sitting – just to see if he was still there and to make sure this wasn’t a tortuous hallucination.

And to his surprise, Jared was looking back.

Jared’s expression that was of patient anticipation melted into one of shock and embarrassment, like he was a child just caught doing something wrong. He looked scared – the same kind of scared as Richard – like he was doing something that was supposed to be a secret.

Richard couldn’t ignore him now; the chance to quickly hustle out of the café and tell Donny that there was a family emergency was gone. Now he had to get up and say something to Jared – whatever that might be – and pretend that the event never happened beyond an awkward side conversation. Jared would never let it go if Richard left abruptly without an explanation in this context – seeing Jared while in a coffee shop alone, looking scared, not ordering anything in a place of business like he was waiting for someone, and leaving quickly once he saw Jared. Their relationship wouldn’t be able to recover from that fully.

Jared looked down like he was about to be struck by someone, raising his hand to his head, covering his temple and touching his hairline, bracing for some kind of impact and hiding. Richard’s heart raced and his mind started to pulse with all the panicked ideas ricocheting through his head.

_Why would he be here now? He had a doctor’s appointment? He – he – he shouldn’t be here. Not right now. Any time but right now. Fifteen minutes ago. Not right now._

Richard averted his eyes with the same fear as Jared, trying to figure out an escape route, but there was no way around confronting him. Even just going to the door right now would only insure that the emotional repercussions would intensify; he had to address this or he would never hear the end of it, unless he slipped by the wet floor sign and it killed him.

His knees defiantly locked and he found it difficult to even shift his weight so that he could stand up let alone land his feet on the ground. The floor seemed to drop from beneath him and it was a battle against gravity to lurch upright and twitch his way across the café. He tripped over his own limbs trying to move between tables.

As he approached Jared, Jared’s hands shyly intertwined, curling up into himself like he was trying to hide in plain sight. Richard wondered what Jared could possibly be so embarrassed about; Richard had every reason to crumble because the rest of his life was ending in front of him, but Jared was just caught in a white lie. He said he was at the doctor when he wasn’t, but here Richard was in a similar state feeling his heart shrivel up and die inside his chest.

The room seemed to shrink and expand the closer he got to Jared, getting smaller the closer he got to Jared but larger the longer he walked; the room buffered with an unstable volume like he was trying to move through gelatin. His head was pounding and he new his cheeks were flushed – he was probably sweating buckets just because he was quietly saying, “excuse me” as he passed by patrons.

Eventually he stood in front of Jared with his hands balled into fists at his side waiting for acknowledgement.

Jared looked up, assuming an upsettingly convincing confidence, forcing a tightly wound smile, trying to pretend that this was a quirky coincidence between two friends, though it was obvious (to Richard) he was melting.

“Hi. Jared.”

His jaw locked and he bit the inside of his mouth; he had never felt more bare and unprotected from outside forces in his entire life, and it felt like the world was playing a sick joke on him that he _did_ end up being intimate with a man today, but it was like this. He had only ever known uncomfortable intimacy and it felt cruel that the first time he ventured toward satisfaction he was reminded of how these things usually went. The hope he had for the day and every day afterward was quickly draining.

“What – What. Are you doing? Here?”

Richard felt his composure slip. His eyebrows furrowed and his voice broke like it took all the strength he had to not start crying in front of the entire café and God and Jared. This day could have been ruined if he had yogurt breath or if the sun got in Donny’s eyes, but now he was caught in the act by someone he lived with and was close to, having to come up with an explanation and play everything off like his muscles weren’t atrophying as he stood there, vulnerable and naked.

Jared noticed Richard’s crumbling and felt the instinctual urge to protect him. He thought Richard was angry about catching Jared in a white lie. Every emotion between slight disappointment and mild distaste seemed to be anger to Jared; even after years of therapy it seemed to be the one thing he had no register for. Everyone was always mad at him for one thing or another and he was about to screw up any second now and reap the consequences; hidden behind his stiff collars and professional poise was a buried fear that everyone would lunge at him any moment. Working in the valley, these fears proved useful in certain instances, but he usually could handle anger from others. Except not from Richard. If he had known it would have elicited this response, he would have never lied. The reason he lied didn’t seem worth it anymore.

_Any lie at all is shameful, Donald._

His lips pressed together like he was waiting to be struck by someone but would be damned if he flinched.

“Hi, Richard, what brings you here?” he began.

Richard’s sadness and heartache quickly turned into anger. He had no energy for having his heart broken; he had to feel something else. Sadness hurt him more than anger. Blaming this on the chaos of the universe wasn’t satisfactory; he couldn’t admit that this was ruined by a stupid white lie made for some reason and by the chance that they both ended up at the café at the same time. Someone was to blame for this and Richard had tried his goddamned hardest to make this work; it was on Jared now and this was _his_ fault. The somber pain he always felt when he thought of how he was destined to be alone had eaten him away quickly, in a moment, in the time it took Jared to speak, and now all that was left was a bitter core that had never been poked like this.

It was someone’s fault. And it was Jared’s fault.

How dare he look sad when Richard was the one who was now destitute? Jared showed up at the worst time he ever could have. Richard had it under control; he could have made this work; he could have created his future today; this could have been the first day of the rest of his life – but no. Jared needed a coffee at 1:15.

“Why the _fuck_ are you here.”

Richard was humiliated. His voice shook with a twitch and his thoughts quickly spiraled.

How could he have ever thought that it would work? That he ever deserved love? He deserved to be happy with a man like that? Happy at all? This was all stupid. Stupid to take it outside. Stupid to take it into the day – take it with him while he was being a person in real life. Not hide it. Try like it was rational to be hopeful and optimistic. Stupid.

Jared’s eyebrows rose with surprise, like his heart had just withered, but Richard struggled to feel any empathy, convincing himself that this misdirected and random anger was justified. How could Jared do this to him? Act like he cared about him? Be so supportive? So caring and guarding? Faithful? Loyal to a problematic extent?

And only to betray him like this?

“Richard, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you – I know I told you I was somewhere else – “

Jared stood up and held out his hands, asking Richard to hear him genuinely, understand why he lied, see this situation with all its nuance, but Richard lurched away. The last thing he wanted in the world was to be approached gently – Jared was just rubbing it in now.

Richard hit a chair and it screeched across the floor, bringing some of the eyes in the shop to the two of them, and Richard lost himself. Eyes were on him. He could hardly bear to be with men in the daylight because people had the _chance_ to see him – the mere opportunity to glance his way – and now people were watching him in an intimate moment. With a man. With Jared.

Jared leaned back and held his hands in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Richard.”

They stood an arm’s length away from each other, the space between filled with an anger Richard had never felt before. Richard tried to avoid feeling anything, now that he thought about it.

In any other situation he wouldn’t have responded like this – if it were any day but today, he wouldn’t have cared at all that Jared hadn’t disclosed he would be getting coffee after his doctor’s appointment – but today of all days was the one instance that he needed to be in his own world. He needed to be in control of every single variable for this to go well. No one else who knew him could see him; he had to be hidden in the ambience of this crowded room for this to work, and Jared robbed him of that.

“Why. Are you here.”

Richard repeated himself. He needed to know. He just wanted an answer. He needed to know what was so important that he was being fucked over like this, and then he would leave. Jared looked at him with a mixture confusion and shame, not understanding this reaction but feeling guilty regardless.

Richard knew that his cheeks were probably flaring red and his teeth were grinding together in a way that couldn’t be good, and his nails were digging into the palms of his hands as he waited for Jared to say _anything_ –

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset, Richard. I didn’t… I didn’t think you would care this much.“

Jared sighed and his shoulders drooped. He just looked sheepish and mumbled.

“To tell you the truth, I had a date today.”

Jared sounded embarrassed to be caught doing something he wasn’t “supposed to,” but his mild embarrassment felt equally as high stakes as Richard’s predicament.

Jared was caught saying he would be somewhere other than where he was, but Richard was caught hiding himself from everyone’s view. He was always on the outside of the world looking in, longing to feel whole and useful and like he belonged. He could grasp that fleeting feeling sometimes, but he almost always was pretending to be someone else. Jared had caught Richard trying to not be the avatar he used to get through his days. And he wasn’t ready for even Jared to see him like that – knowing him as himself and the lie he lived.

The entire world of sound and senses dropped away and Richard was suspended in pain and confusion as Jared’s words reached him; this was worse than anything he could have possibly imagined. Jared wasn’t just here for coffee at a bad time to hurt Richard. It wasn’t exactly chance.

Jared had a date. Jared was seeing someone, in the day, in the light, at peace, looking out the window. Probably watching the birds. In the way that Richard could never do in the past, struggled to do today, and would now never be able to do in the future.

Richard was here – robbed by Jared of the very same thing that they both were patiently waiting for – standing naked in front of awkward bystanders at other tables, expecting that he would any second now bite through his lip. If Richard hadn’t shown up, Jared would have had a lovely day – would have had what Richard always yearned for – but now the only solace he found was in that neither of them could have a nice afternoon after this.

He felt all the anger dissolve and drift off. He felt nothing. There was nothing but him standing there in empty space, staring into Jared’s eyes, and realizing that his dreams were scattered in the breeze. Today was it. Today was the day that he had to prove himself. Today was his last chance.

And now it was gone.


End file.
